11.

  The seasons were shifting without fail. Autumn had begun to carry the unmistakable signs of winter.

  Since Subutai and Batu’s uncle Orda arrived, Batu had remained shut away in the great tent with them and the senior commanders, rarely showing himself. They were surely planning the campaign to come, even as winter approached. Winter preparations alone were not enough; war was coming. Ensuring supplies of food and weapons fell to Boraqchin, and Zaya had been kept constantly busy helping her.

  Norjin, too, had been assigned light work, laboring among the women. Passing by, Zaya watched him from the corner of her eye and thought it was like letting a wolf into a pen of lambs. To Zaya, Norjin looked like a wolf, always ready to draw close and tempt. Yet he did nothing of the sort. The women only laughed at his shameless remarks, amused and excited, sensing no danger at all.

  News of a massive herd of saiga antelope sent a ripple of excitement through the camp. Replenishing food stores was always welcome. With so many guests present this year, Batu declared that the final great hunt of the season would be held. It would secure enough provisions to last through winter and sustain the coming war.

  With this, they would secure enough provisions to carry them through the winter and endure the war that awaited them the following year.

  This year, it was not merely a festival. With Subutai’s forces taking part as well, Batu divided the army openly, just as he would in wartime. Orda’s troops formed the left wing, Batu’s the right, and Subutai’s force was placed at the center. The soldiers were ordered to don armor and take up their weapons. The men’s faces had already begun to take on the look of soldiers.

  Zaya’s tribe was positioned on the outer flank of the main left force, tasked with sealing any gaps in the encirclement. The saiga moved in large herds and were swift; without encirclement and discipline, there could be no hunt. This would be the ideal exercise, undertaken with the western campaign already in mind.

  The day itself was clear, but the chill in the wind already belonged to winter.

  Norjin, who had left the guest tents and was staying with Zaya’s tribe, was assigned to Zaya’s unit as well. Zaya’s force was drawn entirely from her own people. Though only a small detachment, they were veterans of long migrations, having traveled from deep within Africa all the way to the Kipchak steppe. Along the way, they had absorbed the tactics of many lands, guarding their people through every journey.

  A civil official like Norjin was little more than baggage, but the hunt was also a festival. To keep him safe, Zaya placed him just behind her on the left. If anything happened, she and Ehau could protect him there.

  As a precaution, she had him wear the tribe’s black cuirass. Seeing Norjin mounted on a warhorse, clad in a black helmet with a yellow sash at his waist, the young women of the tribe stirred with excitement. Norjin himself looked stiff, perhaps from tension.

  Zaya rode closer, intending to tell him that if he felt afraid, he could fall back and simply follow at a distance.

  The horse he rode was supposed to be the courier mount he had used to travel from Karakorum. Yet up close, it was large, long-limbed. Less a horse built for speed alone than one meant to stand its ground in battle. The thought crossed Zaya’s mind, then vanished, that Norjin might be different from what he appeared.

  “Norjin, are your hands all right? Can you manage your horse?”

  “My arms hurt more than my hands.”

  He didn’t look at her. His eyes remained fixed on Subutai’s troops as he spoke.

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  “If you’d been applying those poultices, I’d have recovered faster.” It was his usual flippant tone—but it wasn’t the usual Norjin.

  “If you’re scared—”

  He wasn’t listening. Zaya felt oddly deflated. Saying no more, she told Ehau to keep an eye on Norjin, then raised her voice to address her unit.

  “We’re on the outermost line. Take down the wounded and anything that tries to break through. You know this already—leave the females and the young for next year. For our winter!”

  A roar answered her. The unit’s morale seemed high.

  At last, Batu and Subutai’s forces filled the steppe, ready to move. The horn signaling the start of the hunt rang out over the plain.

  Subutai’s troops moved smoothly, driving the saiga herd forward. Riders and horses seasoned by war kept perfect pace, controlling the herd’s direction from behind. At the same time, Batu’s and Orda’s forces spread along both flanks, closing in.

  The coordination was flawless.

  The saiga ran at full speed, dust billowing as their escape routes narrowed. Then Subutai’s troops fell back, and the wings tightened like the mouth of a bag, sealing the herd in.

  In that instant, a section of the encirclement broke.

  The herd surged toward the gap, tearing the formation apart. Riders fell. The saiga writhed like a massive serpent.

  Zaya issued orders calmly, moving to seal the breach. But the herd slipped past her forces with uncanny precision, streaming away from her line before it could be closed.

  Ehau shouted—sharp, urgent—but the thunder of hooves swallowed his words. Part of Zaya’s unit broke off, racing along the herd’s flank to intercept.

  That was not her order.

  Before she could recall them, the riders drove hard along the herd’s side, forcing it to veer.

  At this rate, the mass of saiga would pour straight into her force, breaking formation and turning the field into chaos.

  An arrow flashed.

  The leading saiga went down. The herd faltered, its momentum breaking in a ripple of confusion.

  Zaya seized the moment. She shifted her line at once, drawing the disoriented herd away from her force and back toward the closing encirclement. Ehau and the others followed, forming a wall.

  Most of the fleeing herd was drawn back into the ring, arrows raining down inside the encirclement.

  Cheers rose across the steppe as the hunt came to an end.

  Zaya reined in her horse, catching her breath. Only then did the question surface—who had acted without her command? She turned.

  On a low rise beyond the field, a small group of riders had come to a halt. At their head sat a man in a black cuirass, a yellow sash faintly visible through the dust.

  Norjin.

  For a moment, Zaya simply stared. He was too far away to make out his expression clearly. He sat easily in the saddle, reins loose in one hand, as if he had merely ridden a little farther than planned. Then he looked up. His gaze found her at once. Zaya could not be sure—but she thought she saw the corner of his mouth curve, just slightly.

  Back at the ulus, children and elders alike set to work. Skins were stripped, meat carved apart.

  The smell of blood. Steam rising. The dull sound of blades striking bone. This was more than enough.

  Laughter and shouts overlapped, the din almost painful. Zaya searched for Norjin among them. She had given no such order—yet the results were undeniable. She would have to acknowledge that.

  She found him near a table prepared by Boraqchin, speaking with one of her attendants. The woman shrugged, unable to hold back a laugh as she let out a high-pitched giggle.

  Zaya strode straight toward him. Sensing her approach, the attendant bowed quickly and fled.

  “Hey,” Norjin turned to her with an unguarded smile.

  She didn’t know—she truly didn’t know. What kind of face was she making now? What was she thinking? Norjin leaned in, peering at her with amusement.

  “Are you jealous, Princess?”

  Her temple twitched. She swallowed her anger and lifted her chin.

  “…You did well earlier,” she said. This was something she had to acknowledge.

  “Of course. I’m a useful man,” he replied, as if stating a simple, unquestionable fact.

  Zaya burst out laughing despite herself.

  “That attitude—how long do you think it’ll last?” she said, meaning it as a small jab.

  “As long as you wish,” he answered at once.

  When Zaya fixed him with a stare, he returned a shallow bow.

  That he might be afraid—what had I been thinking?

  He had acted on his own, dispersed soldiers without her permission. There were things she should have said. Yet the words would not come.

  “That’s enough,” she said, turning her back on him.

  He spoke to her retreating figure.

  “Lord Taghray didn’t seem to take part in today’s hunt,” Norjin said.

  Zaya started.

  She hadn’t thought of Taghray at all—until Norjin spoke his name.

  Her eyes widened as she turned. Norjin’s face lingered, like an afterimage, before her eyes.

  The same well-shaped face as always. Yet a faint smile rested at his lips.